This Is How The World Ends
She went with the passing of spring, gone in five days. They hadn’t the medicine to deal with it; Ivaldi, for all his education, knew little of disease. He spent the third day, when it became clear that the violent shaking was not going to desist, tearing apart his library in a rage, throwing books in a whirlwind of torn parchments in a futile search for something medical. They were already bound for port, the nearest location available, but it was too far, too late, and they’d argued about where to go, who had a price on their heads and which city actually had facilities that could help.
On the fourth day he wished he hadn’t done that. He looked at her and she was worse and he hadn’t been there-he yelled at her, stood by the bedside and yelled at her for twenty minutes until he’d made himself hoarse, and then when he was rasping she opened her eyes for the first time in hours, maybe days, and offered him an approximation of her grin. It was so weak that it almost came out as a smile-the closest thing to a smile he’d ever seen on her face. It looked wrong.
“Fuck you,” she rasped. There was barely any breath behind it, barely a noise at all, but it was clear.
She closed her eyes and did not open them again.
Ivaldi spent the next fourteen hours waiting for a miracle. She would overcome it. They would arrive at port and get professional help. There was never cause to worry in the first place. It just wasn’t right, Lexis would never die this way, she was going to go out with six swords in her chest, surrounded by a field of corpses and laughing all the way. They were going to go down together, against overwhelming odds, that final battle that was always going to catch up to them in the end, because you can only win for so long. Logic dictated that this is how it would go, and Ivaldi lived by logic. Logic was truth. It would be so.
Somewhere in dawn of the fifth day, he took her hand without realizing it. Somewhere in the next two hours, without thinking it, he knew.
Four hours later she was gone. He couldn’t even say exactly when.
This is how the world ends: not with a bang, but a whimper.
On the fourth day he wished he hadn’t done that. He looked at her and she was worse and he hadn’t been there-he yelled at her, stood by the bedside and yelled at her for twenty minutes until he’d made himself hoarse, and then when he was rasping she opened her eyes for the first time in hours, maybe days, and offered him an approximation of her grin. It was so weak that it almost came out as a smile-the closest thing to a smile he’d ever seen on her face. It looked wrong.
“Fuck you,” she rasped. There was barely any breath behind it, barely a noise at all, but it was clear.
She closed her eyes and did not open them again.
Ivaldi spent the next fourteen hours waiting for a miracle. She would overcome it. They would arrive at port and get professional help. There was never cause to worry in the first place. It just wasn’t right, Lexis would never die this way, she was going to go out with six swords in her chest, surrounded by a field of corpses and laughing all the way. They were going to go down together, against overwhelming odds, that final battle that was always going to catch up to them in the end, because you can only win for so long. Logic dictated that this is how it would go, and Ivaldi lived by logic. Logic was truth. It would be so.
Somewhere in dawn of the fifth day, he took her hand without realizing it. Somewhere in the next two hours, without thinking it, he knew.
Four hours later she was gone. He couldn’t even say exactly when.
This is how the world ends: not with a bang, but a whimper.